


Nightmare at the Museum

by skeleton_comics



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ghosts, M/M, Museums
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:32:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5512217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeleton_comics/pseuds/skeleton_comics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is starting a new high school for reasons that he'd rather keep a secret, and he sees something strange on a field trip...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmare at the Museum

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you guys want more of this! Thanks

Frank really didn't like school.

"Can you fucking believe," he announced, walking over to his usual lunch table where Pete, Brendon, Ryan, Bob, Ray, and Patrick were sitting, "we have a fucking field trip to an art museum tomorrow?" Frank began to pick apart his lunch distractedly.

God, the stuff in this cafeteria is disgusting. How the fuck do they try to get people to eat this? Frank wondered, grimacing at what he thought was a salad, but what was, in reality, a few pieces of limp lettuce and a suspicious looking grape tomato.

"I don't know, I think it's gonna be kinda cool," Ryan said quietly, and Brendon nodded along with him encouragingly.

"Yeah, man, I mean it's stuff that's hundreds of years old, maybe older,"

Frank shot a glare in their direction. "You guys are so uncool,"

Pete snorted, "Whatever, man. Hate the world, only mildly like things. I don't care," he waved his hands around and looked about suspiciously, "and try not to curse so loud, this godforsaken catholic school has nuns that can hear like hawks. We've only been in school for three weeks and I've had detention almost every day,"

The bell rang the annoying shriek that it always did, and everyone at the table groaned in unison.

*

Frank had just gotten out of a detention for god-knows-what (it was something new every time, and Frank swore that the nuns were ganging up on him and starting a Let's-Hate-Frank-Club or something). He was in the middle of getting his stuff out of his locker when he heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, Iero!"

He sighed, closed his eyes, and sent out a silent prayer to whoever would listen, hoping that maybe the voice didn't say "Iero" but said maybe something else instead. It was a long shot, but hey, Frank was willing to try anything at this point. His prayer was interrupted by a sharp jab to his shoulder, and it was enough to send Frank ramming into his locker door, slamming it shut in the process. Nobody was listening to his prayers. Nobody ever did.

"What do you want, Bert? And why are you still at school?" Frank mumbled, and Bert with two buddies backed him against the ugly brownish-red paint of the locker doors.

"I was waiting for you, Iero. You should feel special, I've been wanting to kick your ass for so long,"

Frank tried to slither out to the side slowly, and he managed to get a little bit before Bert slammed his fist into the spot where Frank's face would have been if he moved any farther.

"Don't run away when I'm talking to you, Iero. You need to listen, because when you don't listen, you never learn," Bert got closer to Franks face every word until he was only inches away. In a moment of panic and absolute recklessness, Frank had a simple thought. Fuck it. With that in mind, he spit right into Bert's left eye, ducked under his arm, and sprinted away as fast as he could from the three bullies chasing after.

Fuckingfuckfuckfuckfucknononowhydididothatfuck, Frank's thoughts were repeating over and over again as he scrambled outside, trying to escape.

"IERO! YOU LITTLE SHIT! YOU ARE DEAD! YOU HEAR ME? YOU ARE FUCKING DEAD!" he heard faintly behind him.

Frank just kept running until he couldn't feel his legs anymore.

*

"I'm not bitter, shut up," Frank protested against Bob.

"Frank, you are totally a bitter person. You have a bitter expression right now, see?" Bob shoved his phone into Frank's face, where the camera was flipped so that Frank could see himself scowling.

They were on the bus on the way to the art museum, and Bob was insisting that Frank was one of the most bitter people that he'd ever met. Frank wondered why he even put up with Bob, but hey, he'd known him practically his entire life and was one of his only friends that actually stuck around.

"Okay, fine, I'm a little bitter. Do you really blame me, though? Life sucks. The world sucks. People suck. Everything kinda sucks."

"You suck," Bob chuckled, waggling his eyebrows at Frank.

"Bob, don't even go there, okay?" Frank's voice didn't have humor in it anymore, and Bob frowned.

"Frank, I'm sorry, that was uncalled for,"

Frank blew him off and leaned away, facing the window. He put in his earbuds and blasted some music, ignoring everything around him. God help the poor soul who tried to bother him now, because their face would be smashed into the window if they did so.

The bus finally pulled into the parking lot of the art museum, and Frank had to admit that it was impressive. The old building must have been there for ages, and it was very tall with a few sculptures scattered about the front. As they filed into the doors, the lobby opened up into a giant room with a very tall ceiling, which was almost completely made of glass.

"Let's hope that it doesn't hail," Bob muttered to Frank, and both of them were amazed by the room, filled with sculptures and paintings with signs that said 'DO NOT TOUCH' on brass plates in front of them, although neither of them would admit it. The head nun put in charge, Sister Maria, wrangled all of the uniform-clad kids in and started blathering on about stuff that made Frank want to rip all of the art pieces to shreds. Why does that teacher have to make me want to kill everything she talks about? Damn.

Frank was scanning the room and generally taking in the art when he saw a boy who looked to be around his age with longish unruly hair, who was wearing a black suit-vest with a red tie, observing him and the class. The boy walked over right in front of Sister Maria and began to make faces at her, although she didn't seem to notice. Nobody did. It was very bizarre; the guy seemed to be invisible. He turned around, scanning the class with a slight smirk on his face, and stopped at Frank. Frank quickly looked away, and saw the boy walk over to him in his peripheral vision.

Up close, the boy seemed somewhat older. His eyes were sunken into his face, and he peered at Frank with a curious gaze. "You're a special one," he whispered, seemingly to himself.

Frank gave up and looked straight at him-- the boy's gaze was too distracting.

He seemed somewhat surprised that Frank looked at him, he quirked an eyebrow and seemed kind of panicked. His face paled (which was impressive, as he was already almost unhealthily pale). He seemed to be even more freaked out when Frank whispered, "Hey man, why are you so close to me? Back off,"

The surrounding students by Frank looked at him a little weirdly, and the guy standing next to Frank just behind the mysterious stranger whispered back harshly, I'm nowhere near you, man. Shut up, I'm trying to pay attention. We're gonna have a test on this, you know,"

Frank looked at the guy who talked and hissed, "I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to him," jabbing his thumb where the black haired guy was standing --and now looking very freaked out.

"There's nobody there, you freak. I knew you should have been put in an institute," the guy muttered, and Frank, in a moment when he suddenly had no sense of patience or sanity, yelled and tackled him.

"No! I'm not insane! It wasn't my fault! Shut! Up!"

Sister Maria rushed over, pulling Frank off of the ogling boy he'd pushed over.

"Iero, I should have you expelled for this, considering why you're at this school in the first place. Detention, for a week, with me. Now, pay attention. Gabriel Saporta, with me up in the front please, I know you're not as innocent as you're trying to look,"

Saporta dropped his pathetic, fake angelicness instantly. He grumbled and followed Sister Maria to the front of the class, who were all looking at Frank and Gabe with surprised faces. Frank turned around to glare at the guy in the suit, but he wasn't there anymore. He shrugged it off and tried his best to pay attention.

Eventually, Sister Maria stopped talking and sent everyone outside to eat lunch. Frank took a spot on the front steps by himself, and  began to take a bite out of his sandwich. About two seconds later, a UFF (unidentified flying food) hit him in the face. He closed his eyes and sighed. This is just the best day ever. And where the fuck is Bob? He wished that the rest of his friends were in his class instead of Sister Jude's.

"Iero!"

Frank didn't feel like to talking to Bert (or being pummeled into the ground), so he slapped his sandwich back into the container and booked it inside, muttering to Sister Maria that he had to go to the bathroom on the way in.

He flew past the ancient native american art exhibit and then the French historical exhibit, looking anywhere for some kind of cover. He could hear Bert and his friends' footsteps chasing after him, and he didn't even bother glancing at the people he knew were staring at him. The next hall that he came across seemed to be empty, so Frank took a sharp turn into it. There really wasn't anything to see; it was just a blank hallway with another opening covered in plastic. A sign across the front stated that it was under construction. Perfect.

Frank ducked under the plastic and held his breath. He peeked through a gap and saw Bert run by with his friends following after. He sighed, turned around, and slid down the wall, pulling his knees to his chest and his head down.

"What'd you do? Was it something bad?"

A strange, kind of ragged voice made Frank's head snap up in surprise, and there, he saw the same pale guy who was making faces at Sister Maria earlier. Frank squinted at him.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The pale guy looked surprised again, and looked around as if he couldn't believe that Frank was talking to him and not someone else. He hesitated, "Me?"

"Yeah you, genius. Who else would I be talking to right now? Bert?"

The dude looked around again and asked, "Who's Bert?"

Frank put his head back in his hands and sighed. "He's that asshole that I was running from,"

"Oh really? He did look kinda asshole-like. Tell me more," the guy sat down next to Frank, so rapt with attention that was so sincere that Frank was a little worried about this dude's sanity.

"Why would you want to know about that?"

"Because you're cute. And you're special," The guy smiled. Frank looked at him quizzically, blushing slightly.

"Are you sure about that?"

The guy nodded enthusiastically, "Who is this 'Bert' fellow?"

For some odd reason, Frank felt that he could trust this guy. He didn't know why, but he began talking about his new life at that god forsaken school until one of the other students found him and brought him back to the rest of the group to be scolded by Sister Maria while Bert and his goons were sitting pretty with no consequences.

And Frank didn't even get the guy's name-- only the sense that he would always be at the museum when Frank needed him. Strange.

*

The next time that Frank went to the museum, it was kind of by accident.

He had been walking aimlessly for about an hour or so, blasting his iPod as loud as his ears allowed.

Frank suddenly found himself standing in the parking lot of the art museum, staring up at the banners displaying the new art exhibits. He ducked down and walked inside, paying for a ticket monotonously. He walked around the museum by himself for a while, not really looking at much until he got to an exhibit labeled 'G. WAY'.

Stopping at a blue sculpture that didn't really seem to be anything but a cube, he leaned closer and tried to see something significant in it. Once he got closer to the piece, he found that it wasn't just blue-- it was blue ink on white. The words described what to Frank seemed to be the most painful and heartbroken words he'd ever seen.

"Do you like it?"

Frank jumped at the voice, and he turned around to see the boy from the day of the field trip. The guy smiled, as though he was happy that Frank saw him there.

"The artist seemed so sad," Frank turned back to the sculpture, "it makes me sad too,"

The boy's face was kind of mournful when Frank said that, as though remembering something, but brightened instantly a second later.

"Hold on, I know what might just cheer you up," he said, motioning for Frank to follow.

They entered small room, which, instead of being grey and shadowy blue, was full of brilliant pinks, greens, yellows, reds, and blues. Frank inhaled sharply in amazement, and his temporary guide grinned almost wolfishly.

"Woah," Frank gazed around the room, walking up to one piece to examine it more closely before moving on to the next one.

"Like them?"

"Yeah, these are so cool. I never knew that art could make me feel this way, I really like this G Way guy. Is he still alive, do you know? I wanna meet him,"

The guy was grinning from ear to ear until Frank mentioned the artist, "No," he looked very sad, and Frank walked over and reached out to touch his arm. He moved away and pointed to something under 'G. WAY'. 1993-2013. He only died about two years ago.

"Are you okay? Did you know him?" Frank whispered.

"I have to go," he said quietly, and walked fast-- almost ran-- out of the room. Frank followed, but when he got there, nobody was in the hall.

He still didn't know the boy's name.

*

The graveyard by Frank's house was one of his favorite places to go. It was very quiet, and it was nice to look around and think about all of the lives that ended up behind the black iron fence, six feet under the ground.

After visiting the nameless boy, Frank felt the need to be alone-- he needed to figure out what was going on and get his head on straight. He turned up his iPod, and walked all of the way back to his house, through the backyard, and up into the woods behind.

There, he took out the little earbuds, tucked them into his hoodie with his iPod, and listened to the wind and the trees around him. Everything that time of year was beginning to turn orange and yellow and red, and it felt as though Frank was in a fairy tale. If only there was a dashing young prince to save him from a dragon or something.

Frank snorted at the thought and started up the pathway to the hill.  Hoping to God that he wouldn't impale himself on a spike, he scaled the fence at the top and rather ungracefully fell over to the other side. He hopped up and looked around, feeling like someone was watching him. Frank shrugged it off as paranoia that he would be caught up here, but he knew that was rather unlikely-- the cemetery was very old, and almost nobody went there anymore.

All of the headstones were crumbling with age, their letters almost incomprehensible against the stones they were set into all of those years ago. As he made his way to his usual spot, Frank felt the tops and some of the names long forgotten to the land.

Frank's thoughts wandered to his own history. He'd made so many stupid mistakes, but in his defense, not all of them were his fault. There were people that got Frank into trouble, and he resented them for it. He resented himself for taking the blame, even though he didn't want to. He knew he should've reported the people to the police, but something inside of him told him not to. Life was fleeting, and nothing is permanent. People come and go, things break eventually, pets die. Frank always thought that there was something romantic about life, and how it was constantly changing and always tragic. Believe in whatever you want-- Buddha, Allah, God, Fate. Frank knew that your actions always counted for something, even if it wasn't ultimately up to you to decide your path of life.

Frank arrived at his favorite place after a few minutes of walking. It was right under a big willow tree, by a single unmarked grave. There were a lot of those here-- the dates on the marked ones ranged around the time of the civil war. The yard was so old, Frank couldn't believe that no history buffs hadn't found it yet.

Frank sat down by the soft ground, watching the water from the small ditch that ran by. He pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and a pen.

  1. Way, 1993-2013.



He proceeded to write down what he saw and felt when he saw the paintings and sculptures from the museum. Frank hated this exercise, but his therapist said it would help him work through his 'emotional instability' as he said. Frank always felt kind of like a cliche when doing this, but you never know, it couldn't hurt. By the time he had finished, two more pages of the little notebook were filled up. He shivered with the slight chill that came over the graves while he was working, and noticed there was fog drifting between the headstones. Frank giggled and thought about how typical that was and suddenly wondered if a vampire would come crawling out and try to suck his blood.

He stopped laughing then, and began making his way back home.

Frank walked for a while, stuck in his own thoughts about horror movies and vampires, until he realized that he didn't really know where he was. He didn't recognize anything, and all of the trees looked the same to him. He shivered again. God fucking dammit. He heard a twig crack, and froze. He whipped his head around, trying to source the noise. Nothing happening, he continued to walk, shrugging it off as paranoia. As much as Frank hated to admit it, he was terrified of being alone in the dark, and that forest was getting pretty fucking dark at the moment.

Frank picked up his pace, getting the feeling that something was behind him the whole time. Eventually he broke into a run, trying to find something-- anything-- that was recognizable. He fell once, twice, three times. The third time, the didn't try to get up-- he froze, hoping that he was just delusional and scared into thinking that something was following him.

He never was one to be scared of many things, but Frank used to be absolutely terrified that a monster would come out of his closet at night when he was little, and that fear was temporarily crippled when his grandmother told him that monsters are monsters, so they only hunt the monster people-- the bad people. The fear of something getting him went away after that, until the events leading up to the transfer to his new school. Franks old fear was back now and stronger than ever because of what he did-- what others thought he did-- and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was there, waiting for him.

His other fear was spiders, but for a totally different reason-- they were just too creepy and disgusting and waiting to bite his eyes out.

Sitting cold and alone in the dark forest after possibly being chased definitely didn't help.

After about 10 minutes of sitting on the ground and waiting for something to come out from behind a tree and grab him, Frank stood up slowly, looked around, and continued on his way. His fear was climbing higher and higher until he finally found something recognizable, and he almost cried with relief.

He went home, rushed straight to his room, ignoring his mother's calls for dinner, and crawled under his blankets as though they were his shields, and hunched over. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
